


hand in hand

by kagako



Series: dimileth week 2019 [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Marriage, SO much fluff...., Weddings, byleth has worries and she doesnt deserve it but we love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 02:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20771261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagako/pseuds/kagako
Summary: Mercedes reaches forward, taking Byleth’s hands in her own. “Youare a stunning bride.”“You don’t mean doll?”Annette laughs as Mercedes shakes her head. “No. Although it was a lot of fun to dress you up, it wasn’t all just for us. It’s your wedding day.”-day 4: wedding





	hand in hand

**Author's Note:**

> wedding prompt is here!! i am super proud and soft at this fic, so i hope everyone else enjoys it too!  
thank you for sticking through this week with me!  
please, enjoy!

Even with the way her hair shines in delicate twists and _even _with the way her dress sparkles softly in the mid-evening light, Byleth’s heart still feels as though it is settled deep in her stomach. She sits in front of this grand vanity that is studded with little pearls and carved with great care, the mirror shining right back at her, showing her a reflection far softer than she’s ever been used to.

“He wants to see you,” Mercedes hums this gleefully, deft fingers gentle as she fastens the veil on the top of Byleth’s hair. “But I told him that he simply could not. Do you know why?”

Byleth makes a face in the mirror. It is strange to see her lips glossed over, different to see makeup shimmering on her eyelids, and if she were honest, what Annette put on her eyelashes kind of makes her eyes feel dry—but how could she have said no to their offering, although she suspects they wanted to use her as their doll.

“Something about luck,” she finally says, heart pounding at the way the white veil seems to sparkle in the light from the window. _It is beautiful,_ Byleth thinks, brows furrowing as she avoids her own eyes in the mirror in front of her.

Behind her, Mercedes chuckles before coming to stand beside her. From the corner of her eye, Byleth can see her gesture, a small, upward flick of her wrist. Byleth scoots the chair back, taking in a deep breath before standing up.

“She looks…” Annette gasps as she enters the room again, giddy with excitement at seeing her previous professor—who always seemed more than just that, perhaps a friend, and definitely a comrade—all dressed up. “She really looks… beautiful.”

Byleth isn’t sure if it is the trick of the light, but she swears there are tears brimming Annette’s eyes. “It is thanks to you two,” she says simply.

Mercedes reaches forward, taking Byleth’s hands in her own. “_You_ are a stunning bride.”

“You don’t mean doll?”

Annette laughs as Mercedes shakes her head. “No. Although it was a lot of fun to dress you up, it wasn’t all just for us. It’s your wedding day.”

Byleth makes another face and doesn’t say anything.

“Dedue is waiting. It’s almost time,” Annette piques up.

“Of course,” Mercedes nods, gently letting go of Byleth’s hands as she takes a step back to survey their work again. Under her gaze, Byleth isn’t sure how to feel—there are a lot of emotions coiling around in her head, and she isn’t sure where her heart is: in her stomach, or in her ears. There is excitement, of course, but there is also worry and anxiety; although she pictures her soon-to-be-husband’s face in her head every time she feels like vomiting, the ugly emotions are still there.

Byleth meant it when she asked Dimitri to marry her, but she cannot help but worry over his choice.

Surely, he had meant it—he _has_ to, for their preparations to go this far.

“Are you ready?” Mercedes asks gently, and Byleth can see in her eyes that she must have sensed the anxiety she feels.

Byleth hadn’t noticed (heard, seen, whichever) that Annette had left the room until Mercedes coaxes her to face the door and finds no one else in the room, her fingers curling around her biceps just as gently as she had spoken to her.

“Byleth?” Mercedes murmurs her name quietly, and the familiarity of it immediately releases a band of tension that had been in her stomach. Byleth looks over expectantly, and it is there again she sees tears that are formed of happiness, of a bond that brings loyalty and love, brimming someone’s eyes. “It’s time.”

“Yes,” Byleth chokes out the word somehow, amazed that she could even speak—and _oh, Goddess,_ she thinks, her anxiety spiking again,_ how am I to say my vows?_

Outside of the door, Dedue is standing there, his attire black and sleek with hints of blue and an almost-white silver, and somehow, with Dimitri’s right-hand man staring right at her, Byleth feels even more tension roll off her person.

“I will see you soon,” Mercedes says, her touch easy as she gives a reassuring pat against Byleth’s back. She leaves them hurriedly, turning down the hall and gradually, her footfalls fade.

Finally, Dedue speaks. “Your—“

“Byleth.”

“—If I may say so, you look… truly…” Dedue smiles, his throat bobbing up and down as if he, too, were fighting the soft emotion that rose in his chest. He clears his throat before speaking. “You are a beautiful bride.”

The words rush out, beyond her control. “I am worried. Not so much _scared,_ or regretting—no, no, I absolutely want to marry him, please do not take my words the wrong way.” She grips at her own hands, giving the bouquet in Dedue’s hands a wary look, as if it would catch fire the moment she touched it. “I just—it is—“

“You must calm down,” Dedue tells her delicately, taking a step forward. He reaches forward with his free hand, unsure of what to do, so finally Dedue lets his hand fall back to his side. “If you would please, calm down and tell me.”

Byleth nods, biting the insides of her cheeks because her lips are glossed with a soft pink and she doesn’t want to ruin anything her friends have done for her. The material of her dress feels foreign on her hands, against her body, and the way her hair doesn’t fall into her face has her feeling out of place, but—she appreciates everything. She is more than grateful of everyone’s love, of everyone’s thoughts, of _everyone._

Yet, that isn’t the problem.

Byleth looks up at her soon-to-be-husband’s right-hand man, and when she sees kind eyes staring at her and nothing but patience in his expression, she feels relieved. “I… to him, I… am I… would I…” She stumbles with her words, narrowing her eyes at the way her own heart pounds, like an angry flock of baby wyverns that want to escape, but haven’t learned to fly yet. “I worry that I am not… enough… for Dimitri.”

“Pardon me, but isn’t that rather… silly?”

Despite herself and the seriousness of the moment, she gives a laugh. To hear such a child-like word from this scarred and battered man’s mouth…

“His Majesty has given you a ring and you to him.”

Byleth nods.

“The two of you are… in love.”

Again, Byleth nods.

“To think that you are not enough for His Majesty…” Dedue sighs, and finally reaches forward. He cups her hand in his, and he isn’t surprised to find that although she looks almost like a different person, that the structure of her_self_ remained unchanged. He can still feel the roughness of the palm of her hand, the calluses from wielding weapons that may never heal, little scars here and there from this and that. Dedue squeezes her hand. “Isn’t it silly?”

“You may be right,” Byleth admits, nodding. It’s strange, but something about the way Dedue grips her hand makes her feel as though nothing had ever changed. In return, she squeezes his hand, and is grateful for the way most of her worries seem to melt away. Byleth gives Dedue a smile as she adjusts her arm so it is hooked with his own. “Thank you, Dedue.”

He hands her the flowers and shakes his head. “I cannot imagine what for.”

Slowly, they make their way down the hallway, squinting in the light as the sun sets in the distance. It is bathed in hues of oranges and soft yellows, hints of deep purple and the gentlest pink.

“For… doing this, in place of my father,” she says, although she knew Dedue was playing fool.

“It is my greatest pleasure,” he assures her.

As they walk down the stairs, he speaks again: “His Majesty… really wanted to see you.”

“Mercedes scolded him, I heard,” she mentions, barely able to hear herself over the sounds of their footfalls against the stone steps.

“As did Sylvain,” Dedue laughs. “It is bad luck, and although everyone told him so, His Majesty really… wanted to see you, even if it was a peek, he said.” Dedue smiles fondly as if it were a memory of years ago and not one of a few hours ago.

“I am lucky to have him,” Byleth says, and she isn’t sure who she is saying it to—herself, Dedue, or the Goddess, perhaps just the air around them.

Finally, they reach the bottom of the stairs and come to a halt in front of a set of grand double doors.

Behind there, everyone is waiting—and at the end of the aisle, Dimitri stands there, perhaps the one the most eager from all the waiting. Byleth wonders what he looks like—who had done his hair and who had smoothed over his robes? She, too, had wanted to see him so desperately—and it is only then she realizes this, having been too caught up in her worry, her fears.

“Isn’t His Majesty just as lucky to have you?” Dedue asks her, slipping his arm from her hold. She turns to him and him to her; both of them smile, earnest and knowing. “May I, Your Majesty?” he is teasing her, she’s sure, and Byleth rolls her eyes exaggerated enough that he laughs the tiniest bit, taking it as an approval.

Dedue lifts the veil gently, fighting a smile as he lets it fall over Byleth’s face.

“What are you smiling at?” she demands.

“Oh, it is—“ Dedue coughs into his fist, a small laugh escaping despite his own efforts. “His Majesty—he… practiced… lifting a veil, having been… worried about possibly tearing it in two, or right off your head.”

Byleth does not laugh, and merely smiles. She could picture it clearly—it was so like Dimitri that she feels warmth blooming right above her heart. “He practiced?” she hums, and now she is the own teasing him. “On you, I presume?”

Dedue sighs with a nod of his head.

“Worry not,” Byleth says, “your secret is safe with me.”

Again, Dedue clears his throat, and instead asks her, “Are you ready?”

She turns her head, giving the double doors a blank look before she realizes that—yes, she is ready, even as her heart pounds so much it almost hurts, she is _ready, _even with the muddled doubt that still lingered in her mind. Byleth turns to Dedue, who is ever so patient and kind, loyal and understanding. Her heart fills with gratitude, flooding her senses. “Yes,” she tells him confidently, hooking her arm with his once again.

As they step forward, the Knights on either side push the doors open, bathing them in light and quiet murmurs.

Through the veil, it is a bit difficult to see—the pews are full of people, familiar faces and new ones, but one person she can tell for certain is Dimitri.

He stands far away, too far for her liking—she can barely see him, yet he is so clear.

Dedue forces a steady pace, patting her hand as if to assure her, _you will see him soon._

Hushed voices are all around them, and she swears she hears a harp somewhere to her right, but all she is focused on is the one waiting for her. Vaguely, she can see Mercedes, Annette, and Ingrid standing to the side, close to where she will stand, and she can make out forms that were surely Ashe, Sylvain and Felix a bit behind, off to the side, where Dimitri stood.

It is far too slow for her, and yet it all happened too fast.

Soon, she is standing at the altar, and then Dedue is slipping his arm from hers, and he looks at her, a smile on his face and his eyes twinkle in the light, telling her, _all is well and all will ever be well again, _before he gives a small bow, taking stand with the others behind Dimitri.

Seteth clears his throat, effectively silencing the whole room, and it is then Byleth even noticed he had been standing there.

“We are gathered here today,” he begins, arms spread in a gesture, “to witness the union of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd and Byleth Eisner. Two people—nothing more and nothing else, coming together as one with an immovable love.”

Through the veil, she can barely see him—Dimitri is so close, and this veil is too frilly, too delicate with heavy lace with intricate swirls and designs. Byleth can make out the shape of his jaw, the rich blue of his eye, the different eyepatch he bore which was the color of deep blue. She cannot tell the look on his face, but can see the nervous set of his shoulders.

“Ring bearer, please,” Seteth speaks up, pulling Byleth from her thoughts.

Cyril steps forward from beside Seteth, and Byleth once again is surprised at how much she hadn’t taken in around her in the midst of only wanting to be standing in front of Dimitri. Their rings lay on a small pillow the color of pristine white, the jewels popping with color.

“The groom, if you would.”

At Seteth’s words, Dimitri steps forward and extends a hand.

_He’s going to see me._

It is a bit terrifying yet incredibly exhilarating all at once. With how close he is now, Byleth can see his hand, and there is a private smile curving on her lips at the way his hand trembles ever so slightly. She watches as he takes the bottom of the veil carefully, and she wants to say,_ don’t worry, didn’t you practice?_ but she holds her tongue.

Dimitri lifts the veil, the backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek, and the contact is enough to make her stiffen with anticipation, heart pounding profusely until finally, she can see him clearly.

_You’re breathtaking,_ she thinks, but comes to the quick understanding that she had uttered it aloud when Dimitri smiles down at her, color dusting lightly on his skin as he tells her, “just as you.”

Byleth can do nothing but follow his motions—watching as he reaches for the ring meant for her, watching as he reaches for her left hand, eyes wide as his thumb grazes the back of her hand.

“I have many things I wish to say,” Dimitri says, and in the stillness of the hall, it seems louder than anything in the world. “To me, you are… everything. You have—“ his voice wavers, here, before he steadies himself, “you have… been a constant, always beside me, and I suppose that is what tugs at my heart the most… how… willing you were—_are—_to always be _beside_ me, and not behind me, or in front of me.” Dimitri continues to make circles against the back of her hand, and it is then she realizes it is _her_ that is trembling now, and not Dimitri. “You are more than anything I could have asked for.”

Byleth has to bite down the emotions as Seteth softly says, “Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd… you take this woman as your wife?”

“Always.” Dimitri slides the ring on her finger smoothly. There is a chuckle somewhere around them, and Dimitri quickly says, “I—of course. Yes. I do.”

“The bride, if you would.”

Byleth clears her throat, giving Dimitri’s hand a squeeze before extending her right, taking his left, and then reaching for the ring meant for him with the hand that feels just a little bit awkward, with the ring now set there.

“I—I do not know… what I want to say,” Byleth admits with a small shake of her head, and there is another round of soft laughter around them as she returns Dimitri’s previous gesture, making circles with her thumb on the back of his hand. “I had a lot, and now that I am standing here, in front of you, I… the words have escaped me. I am not good at these sorts of things, but… with you, D—Dimitri… it is so easy to feel… human.” She takes a glance up at him, and sees countless emotions on his face. Byleth has to look down once more, focusing on the glint of the jewels of their rings. “It is so… easy… so simple… to feel more than what I am… I suppose, what I mean to say is… with you, I feel… whole.”

“Byleth Einser… you take this man as your husband?”

“I do. I do,” she insists, nodding vigorously, her smile wide as she slides the ring to the base of his finger, and she doesn’t miss a beat. Byleth looks up at him, the one who is hers from now and until the end, and she is sure there are tears in her eyes, and she is sure it might ruin the makeup her friends decorated her with, but Byleth cannot find it in her to care. She can see the emotion in Dimitri’s one eye—love, devotion, a tenderness that she has seen since long before. His smile is pure, soft, one that she wants to—“Can I kiss him, now?” Byleth asks just as Seteth opens his mouth to speak.

Another soft round of laughter, a few _aww’s,_ and she swears she can hear someone—Claude?—do a fake gagging noise.

“Of course,” Seteth says, and then Flyan is throwing flower petals around, and so are all the people in the pews as they yell with joy, and when Dimitri steps closer, his hands sliding against her hips, pulling her in, and when her hands are sliding against his shoulders and up to the tidiness of his hair, there are no noises they hear as their lips finally meet.

There is nothing but their warmth, mingled into one budding fire and it is nothing if not perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ! ♥


End file.
